


Responsibilities of Care

by orphan_account



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Diarrhea, Gen, Look I have no idea if this is gonna be a good character study or if it's just gonna be gross, Sickfic, but the muse struck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An engagement leaves Echo's stomach in a bad way.   Caring for the health of the Dolls is sometimes uncanny, in small ways as well as big.





	Responsibilities of Care

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably pre-canon.

He actually says, "What's up, Doc?"

"Topher."

"Okay, so, you're going to want to keep an eye on Echo."

I give him a look.  "What did you do?"

"Me?  Nothing.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  But her body's been on a vegan diet since about the tenth grade."

"And?"

"The last engagement involved a barbecue festival, and, well, I can do a lot, but I can't program gut flora.  I hacked her peristalsis so she wouldn't be stuck in a porta-potty for half the engagement, but it's going back to normal, so..."

"I see."

He throws up his hands dramatically.  "Release the Kraken!"

*********

One of the reminders that the dolls aren't little kids is that they don't make a big deal out of it when one of them burps or passes gas.  It isn't until Echo's let out the third unusually big fart in as many minutes that Victor comments "That smells very strong."  He doesn't even say that it smells bad, even though any ordinary person would probably be genuinely disgusted.

"I'm going to use the toilets," says Echo.

I don't want to follow right on her heels, partly because I don't want to walk that fast in these shoes, but partly out of some concern for her privacy that doesn't even apply.

The dolls' lavatory is a series of squat toilets on one wall, sinks on another, and a big trough urinal on the third.  When I get there, Echo is at the one nearest the door.  There's a thoroughly soiled set of yoga pants and underwear next to her, and more than a little mess on the porcelain behind her.  I've always thought the term 'explosive diarrhea' was childish hyperbole, but this is one of those cases where there was definitely projectile force.  "Oh, you poor thing," I say under my breath.

"I missed." she says flatly.

I make my way gingerly to the her side--the clean side--and crouch down beside her.  She's still going.  If it was a regular patient, I'd tell her to just let it out, that it's okay, that it happens to everyone, that there's no need to be embarrassed.  But of course, none of that applies to a doll.  I want so badly to comfort her, but I can't, because she doesn't need it.  Which hurts, somehow.  I settle for taking her hand.

She's perfectly still, and if it wasn't for the sweat on her brow and the tightness of her grip, I wouldn't even be able to tell she was uncomfortable.

I end up shifting positions a few times, which makes me realize that she's taking a while.  I genuinely don't know how much more she has left in her.

"I'm missing yoga," she says.

"Well, you're kinda busy."

She doesn't appreciate the joke, of course, but it still feels like the right thing to say.

Watching her, it occurs to me that I've had four cups of coffee this morning, and I realize all of a sudden that I need to do what one does when one is overcaffienated.

"I'm going to use the toilet too, Echo.  I'll still be right here."

I take the one next to her, pull down my underwear, hike up my skirt, and pray that none of the male dolls walk in on us.  I feel a little bit of deja vu, but shake it off.  I hadn't realized how badly I needed to go, but when I relax my bowels and bladder, I'm surprised I held it for as long as I did.  Leave it to a workaholic like me not to attend to basic bodily needs.

I'm a little glad I'm not in the staff restroom, because I'm passing a lot of gas, and I really hate being teased about that sort of thing.  This whole thing feels comfortable, even familiar, and I'm relaxed and relieved.  Then Echo says "Your stool is loose too."

A pall of humiliation falls over me.  "Thanks, Echo, I noticed that."

Dolls don't understand sarcasm, but she must have noticed the harsh edge in my voice, because she looks hurt all of a sudden.

"Am I not being my best?" she asks.

"No, you're fine, it's just..." I trail off.  I have no idea how to explain bathroom taboos to a doll, which is so frustrating.

I look around for toilet paper until I remember that the dolls use bidets.  I've never used one before, but I manage to do so without even having to figure it out.  The sensation has every reason to be alien, but I find myself comforted and I don't know why.

Echo has another wave of runs before she's finally done.

"I should shower," she says.

"That wouldn't be very sanitary," I tell her.  "I've got a private shower in my office."

As I lead her through the main room with a towel around her waist and her soiled clothing in a plastic bag, none of the dolls so much as look our way.  I'm bright red, but Echo's the same as always.

It's almost something to envy.


End file.
